


Sing you safe

by ninemoons42



Category: Wanted (2008), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Children, Alternate Universe - Twins, Belief, Brothers, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Music, Inspired by Real Events, Kid Fic, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-16
Updated: 2012-10-16
Packaged: 2017-11-16 11:37:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/pseuds/ninemoons42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for <a href="http://cottoncandy-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://cottoncandy-bingo.dreamwidth.org/"><b>cottoncandy_bingo</b></a>. Prompt: belief. My card is <a href="http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/208216.html">here</a>.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Sing you safe

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://cottoncandy-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**cottoncandy_bingo**](http://cottoncandy-bingo.dreamwidth.org/). Prompt: belief. My card is [here](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/208216.html).

title: Sing you safe  
author: [](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/)**ninemoons42**  
word count: approx. 955  
fandoms: X-Men: First Class [movieverse], Wanted  
characters: Charles Xavier, Wesley Gibson  
rating: G  
notes: Written for [](http://cottoncandy-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**cottoncandy_bingo**](http://cottoncandy-bingo.dreamwidth.org/). Prompt: belief. My card is [here](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/208216.html).

  
Waking up is a slow process for Charles: first he becomes aware of an overwhelming impression of warmth. Blankets piled on him, the long sleeves of his favorite t-shirt, his right sock sliding off his foot, the long tail of his stuffed toy wrapped around his left wrist.

Slowly, he reaches out with his abilities. He has to be extra careful in the mornings, because it is far easier to get pulled into others’ minds when those minds are soft and vulnerable from sleep; he’s been pulled into dreams more times than he can remember, and more than he’d care to count.

He stretches out toward the warmth and the soothing happy hum of the kitchen: Cook is already elbow-deep in flour and the gardener is making the strange mix of coffee, tea, and milk that he carries around with him in a vacuum jar as he tends to the greenhouses.

Charles likes listening to them; their thoughts feel like rumbling laughter in his mind, always reassuring, always warm and welcoming – as they are now, once Cook _notices_ him and sends him impressions of fondness and amusement. Out loud, he can hear her say, “If you’re awake enough to be checking in, young man, you’re awake enough to get dressed. Come on, breakfast will be ready, and I might have some of that apple cake you and your brother like so much.”

“Is that Charles?” the gardener asks, smiling so much that Charles can _feel_ the lines around his eyes crinkling up. “Good, then let him know there’re a couple of nests he and Wesley might like to poke their noses into. They can come find me after their lessons.”

“Off with you,” Cook says, affectionately, and waves the rolling pin at the gardener, who chuckles and hurries out.

 _Good morning,_ Charles says politely. _We will come down as soon as we can._

He’s still thinking about the scents of vanilla and cinnamon and freshly-turned earth as he scrambles out of bed, and he’s pulling the reins of his telepathy away from the rest of the house, when: _Charles are you there._

He freezes just as he pulls his Captain America shirt over his head. His heart is beating quickly, suddenly. _Wesley. Talk to me._

 _Need you. Don’t feel good._ Even Wesley’s mental voice sounds worn-down – hoarse, as though he’s been screaming in his sleep.

Charles knows better, because he’s always listening to his brother, and Wesley sleeps like the dead – but it seems that not even the sleep has helped him with his condition.

_You don’t feel too good in my head, dear._

_Feel like insects smashed all over the windows,_ and for good measure, Wesley sends out that image, stuttering and incomplete but startlingly vivid.

“I really did not need to see that,” Charles grumbles as he pulls another set clothes. He grabs his favorite dark-gray sweater before stepping out.

He makes sure to lock the door and to feel for the heavy iron key in his pocket.

For some reason it’s important to him that the key be iron. It feels like it’s something he should be hanging on to for the future. It’s a foolish little belief, probably just something he’s dreamed up from the many books he’s read just this year, but it makes him smile and that’s more than enough for him some days.

He squeezes the key one last time for luck, then he crosses the corridor and stands in front of his brother’s locked door. _Wesley, let me in._

“How do I know it’s you?” is the muffled response.

Charles rolls his eyes, and sends his brother an image of the same. _Okay, I admit it, I’m here to steal your blankets and that stash of cookies you keep under your bed, next to the Thor comic books._

He gets a faint laugh for that, and the click of the door being unlocked.

He takes one step in, and the next thing he knows is that he’s cradling Wesley in his arms, with no recollection of moving at all. Wesley burns to his touch, hot and damp and not good, but it’s hardly the first time that he’s had a reaction like this to his own abilities. Charles is well used to caring for him now and it is easy to pick him up and lead him back into the room.

“Stay there,” Charles says as he pours his brother into the armchair next to the windows.

“Where am I going?” Wesley asks around a yawn.

By the time Charles finishes changing the sheets Wesley has nodded off, and he grumbles quietly, a dark mutter in the back of Charles’s head: _Hate being sick._

 _I know,_ Charles says soothingly.

_Nightmares don’t help._

_You’ve gotten too good at shielding,_ Charles scolds gently as he climbs into bed with his brother. _I could have helped you with that._

 _Not sure you wanted to share. Dream of being separated from you. Not good,_ Wesley says, and it takes him a while to get settled.

Eventually they curl up together, Charles stretched out full-length and Wesley sprawled on top of him. Even with Wesley giving off excess heat from his fever, it’s easy to pull him close, and run a soothing hand through his spiky, messy hair.

 _Not worried,_ Charles thinks gently. _What will happen will happen. But I know you. You’ll fight your way back to me._

_Kind of something I do every day anyway, Charles._

_I know, Wesley. And you know I’d do the same for you._

That gets him a small smile, something that lasts until Wesley falls back into fretful sleep, and Charles hangs on to the memory of it and holds his brother close.  



End file.
